James Rouch - Blind Fire

He’d seen it all, there was not a weapon that Libby had not witnessed in action, nuclear, conventional or chemical, but there was something overpoweringly awe-inspiring about super-napalm. Whenever it was used on the battlefield men would stand and watch, thanking God, or whatever they believed in, that this time it was not going down on them. How many times had he walked through the ashes of those on whom it had, and the ashes of how many men? A hundred, a thousand? He didn’t know because there was never enough left to form even a rough estimate, just a crumbling fragment of bone here, a fused rifle mechanism there, and that would be all that was left of a section, a platoon, even a company.

For five long seconds the white fire hid the farm, then in a moment it was gone, and the smoke that replaced it swiftly rose into the low clouds, propelled by the colossal temperatures that had been generated. In that brief span of time the farm had been destroyed, utterly. Only one end of the house still stood, and that at an angle, as though impatient to join its fellows heaped below it. The big sheets of metal cladding had been stripped from the barns and the surviving skeletal frames were buckled and glowing. A remaining silo dipped suddenly and its flame-scorched metal crumpled like aluminium foil as it hit the cinder-smothered yard. In the midst of the ruin sat the hulk of a personnel carrier. Its armour was no longer the standard Soviet drab grey, now the exposed bare metal showed alternate\ bands of straw yellow and deep blue between smudges of black, like an inexpertly quenched machine-tool.

Kurt made no attempt to conceal his leering pleasure as he watched Andrea running towards them. Her camouflage jacket gave little evidence of the superb body beneath, but he could imagine it. The smooth round breasts would be bouncing at every step, fighting the restraints of her bra. She’d be sweating now, and he imagined what it would be like to rub his hard body down in the damp valley between them. Shit, he should have tied her down and fucked her when he had the chance. What tricks he could have taught her! But not now, not now they were with this crowd of Brits and Yanks – she had too many protectors.

Not that the bitch needed any, Ernst had found that out the hard way. Kurt still remembered the scream, and the sight of the would-be rapist as he staggered out of the house, his entrails hanging from his slashed stomach down into the trousers around his ankles. He’d have gone for her then, but none of the others would help. When Karl had almost met a similar fate a couple of nights later, and had been lucky only to lose the end of his penis, they had given up the idea of taking her by force and resigned themselves to a frustrating time, taking it out on the available women refugees when they could. Now he was the only one of the gang left.

They hated him, this lot. The major, the sergeant, all of them, just because he had been a border guard. He knew he was there on sufferance, and only because Andrea was. Still, it was better than a prison camp, that would have been the alternative, and they couldn’t watch him forever. No point in escaping now, let them protect him, he’d make his break when they were out of the Zone, that was the best plan. But plan or no plan, if the war came to a sudden end then he would have to get out fast, lose himself among the millions of refugees. Remote though such a possibility seemed, it was one he had reason to fear. To the communists he was a deserter, to the West Germans a war criminal, his fate would be the same whichever side won and got him in their clutches.

If he ripped off all her clothes now she’d be good and hot, nicely lubricated underneath, he’d be able to slip in easy, once her hands were tied. Just the thought made him leak…

Kurt took his eyes from the girl, as he realised the sniper’s were on him. Nasty that one, cold, emotionless; even the big man, Dooley, was wary of him. ‘Let’s move.’ Revell added his urging to Hyde’s. ‘We’ve got to find a clearing for the chopper to do a pick-up. Come on, shift.’

‘I’d rather walk.’ Cohen felt ill at the prospect of another ride. ‘Just give me a call and tell me where you’re heading, I’ll meet you there.’

‘If you can run at a couple of hundred kilometres an hour you’re welcome.’ Hyde wiped rain from his face, and left a smear of mud across his disfigured features. ‘Otherwise shut up and get moving.’

‘You want me to take the radio?’ Dooley extended a hand to the corporal. ‘You can piss off. If I want help I’ll want it reliable, and at reasonable rates. I’ll stick to Avis.’

‘Suit yourself, just trying to be helpful.’ Giving Burke a nudge that pushed him an involuntary three steps sideways, Dooley lifted his own load. ‘That Major of yours is in a bloody hurry isn’t he?’ Burke rubbed his shoulder as they started off.

‘He doesn’t like the battle to go cold, likes to keep things on the boil.’ As they walked, Dooley interrupted the conversation to dart forward and lift a low branch to save Cohen from having to bend, showering him in water in the process.

‘That’ll be two marks,’ he called to the corporal as he fell back alongside Burke again. ‘Would have been five, but I’m giving a special introductory offer.’ Dooley grinned at the inevitable obscenity he received in reply. ‘No extra charge for the shower.’ He took out a grimy scrap of paper, and with an equally filthy stub of a pencil noted the amount.

Burke took up again where he’d been forced to leave off. ‘That’s alright while he’s boiling Reds, like he’s just done, but why’s he in such a fucking hurry to see the same happen to us?’

‘You’re not dead yet, are you?’

‘Not for want of bloody trying.’

‘Quit worrying, the Major will take care of us. I’ve been with him six months, and I ain’t come to any harm.’

‘You mean you were a head-case when he first knew you?’ Ducking just in time, Burke avoided the casually swung M16 that slashed through the leaves above him. ‘I’m telling you,’ Dooley stabbed a finger the size of a salami towards Burke, ‘he’s good, good at his job, good at looking after his men. The only difference between him and your Sergeant is that he keeps pressing on, when that shitty gargoyle of yours would stand back and wait for the smoke to clear before having another go.’

Burke dropped it. The big man had blind faith in his officer; it could be dangerous devotion in battle. There were lots of different reasons for obeying orders, but so far he’d found the most convincing one was that it avoided him having to do too much thinking himself. Sod it, there was no way he was ever going to get a stripe, so what was the point of putting on displays of initiative? In his lowly position it wasn’t required of him, while officers and NCOs were still on their feet, and by the time casualties forced him to take command of the section he’d be the only one left alive. Then there’d only be one order, and he could give that to himself while he was running.

‘Want a hand?’

Recovering from the trip that had brought him to his knees, Burke treated Dooley’s offer with suspicion. ‘I may be older than the rest of you, but not that much. Anyway I can’t afford your rates.’

‘That’s alright, no charge.’ Dooley took Burke’s pack as he helped him up. ‘Just till you get your breath back.’

Cohen had witnessed the incident. ‘So for him it’s gratis?’

‘It’s for a buddy. You pass around a few of your diamonds and you’ll have some. I’ll be first in line.’

There was no need for Cohen to pause to consider the suggestion. ‘In that case I’ll die wealthy instead, lonely but wealthy.’ The radio crackled into life, and he hurried to catch up with the major as a message came in.